The Perks of Suburbia
by green-eyed blonde
Summary: Draco's family has just moved into Harry's neighbourhood. How will they clash or unclash this time? Nonmagic, AU, OOC... Very slight slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: No, no! Don't be thick! Not my characters.**

**A/N: Welcome to my latest story. Please enjoy it, at least a little?**

The Perks of Suburbia 

**Chapter One**

All the residents of Privet Drive had taken refuge inside their square, cookie-cutter homes, windows and doors shut tight to keep them living in their own frosty, recycled air.

A slim blonde teenager, however, reclined outside in the backyard of his new home. He was taking up two lawn chairs; one for his normal sitting regions, and one for his feet. A book rested loosely in his hands. He wondered why anybody would want to remain indoors on a gorgeous summer day like this one. The warm yellow sun spotted through the gently swaying trees, the sky was one of those blues that make you think you must have gone back in time, because it looks so virginal and clean. The shimmering wisps of clouds drifted lazily by, and the boy found himself no longer interested in his book. He leaned his head back and sighed a little, as a cool, sweet breeze lifted his hair softly off of his forehead.

This day sounded exactly like it should. It sounded like summer in the suburbs. The sounds of air against grasses, the tiny collective buzz of insects, the far away sound of someone mowing their lawn...

"Shit."

The boy was jerked out of his dozy reverie by the sharp perforation of the summer by a loud curse.

Mildly curious to see who else in this god-forsaken neighbourhood could be outside in the sun, he stood up and stretched. The voice had come from across the street — it had travelled through the still summer air easily. The tall, thin boy stepped around to the side of his house and searched for the source of the swearing. He found it. A smallish boy with dark hair was crouched in the midst of the garden of one of the houses across the street. His shirtless back was tanned and vaguely muscular — no full protrusions in his flesh, but rather a tight, toned sort of muscular. The dark-haired boy looked to be about the same age as our blonde one.

As he watched from the corner of his home, his new discovery cradled his finger for a moment before shaking it a little and then turning back to his weed-pulling.

"Draco, darling," his mother began from her end of the dining table where they sat eating, surrounded by menacingly tall piles of brown boxes.

"Yes, mother?" He mentally sighed. He knew what was coming.

"Did you go out today?" Yes, there it was. Now she'd ask if he'd made any friends. "Did you make any friends?"

"No, mother, I didn't go anywhere. Where do you expect me to go?"

And she launched into her usual tirade explaining how if Draco didn't go out and make friends now, he'd be simply _lost_ once he had to go to school in September, and anyway, what else could he be doing? Reading?

Draco's father looked up from his food and interrupted his mother.

"Draco, I saw a boy about your age, he lives right across the street."

Draco's mother squealed.

"Oh, darling, _do_ go out and introduce yourself! I'm sure you'll be great friends!"

Why was it that adults seemed to think that if two young people were the same age, they'd automatically become the best of friends?

Draco sighed.

"Mother, I can't just go over there..." he put up half-heartedly. He knew, though, that if his parents wanted him to do something, he could only end up doing it.

"Draco, you _will _go over there tomorrow and say hello," said his father in a voice that left no room for arguement.

Draco nodded resignedly.

A few hours later, Draco came downstairs from his bedroom to find his living room much more crowded than usual. His father and mother sat on the couch, faces stretched tight with grim, fake smiles. Sharing the couch with them was a horse-faced woman. In one chair — his father's chair — sat an enormous man with a horrible little moustache, and in another chair sat a very slightly smaller version of the man; a pink mass that looked bored out of his tiny mind, but hungrily shoving the cookies that had been set out on the coffee table into his mouth.

Perhaps the room was less crowded than at first glance, and it was just the unusually large size of its occupants that struck one with the fact that there was much less room than there should be.

The whole group (besides the boy) looked as if they were part of some grotesque, carnivalesque scene, as each of them wore that frightening, fake grin, showing off too many teeth.

"Ah, Draco!" his father called in exaggerated joviality when he saw him. He quickly stood up, seeing this as his only airy opening in an otherwise stuffy, endlessly pressing evening in which there would be no more means of escape. He led Draco to his former seat on the couch, his fake smile (quickly slipping into a grimace) distorting his face.

"This is my son Draco," he said to the three visitors. "And these are our new neighbours from across the street; Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley. Now if you'll all excuse me, I have some important calls to make."

"Yes, I'm sure they're very important!" said Petunia in a sickeningly adoring voice.

They all said their good-byes and an awkward silence fell over the room, until Draco's mother said,

"Now, I thought my husband had seen another boy at your home today — is he the gardener, or what? Is Lucius simply mistaken?"

Draco watched Vernon and Petunia exchange almost horrified glances, which he found quite fascinating, before Vernon spoke up.

"No, no, it was no mistake. That's my nephew, he lives with us."

"He wasn't feeling quite good enough to come meet the new neighbours, I'm afraid!" added Petunia with a sort of nervous titter. She glanced around the room wildly, looking desperately for a change of subject, when her eyes landed on Draco.

"My, what a handsome son you've got there!"

Draco smiled graciously and thanked her for the compliment, noticing with an unexplainably savage pleasure that his mother had no such compliments to return for the pink mass eating all their food. Mrs. Dursley continued on valiantly.

"You should come over some time, I'm sure Dudley would love to have you, wouldn't you?" She turned to her son. He shrugged and went on eating. Draco nodded and smiled, trying and succeeding in hiding his disgust and disdain for such a creature. He would do no such thing...unless of course, it was to meet the boy's mysteriously absent cousin, instead.

**A/N: Ahh…I just had to start writing this or it was going to burn a whole through my skull. Please review! I shall love you if you do. This is a wonderful prize, you know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Seven inches of gratitude to those who reviewed! I love you for it. Anyway, one of you asked when this is taking place. Erm, the boys are…16 or 17? I honestly hadn't thought about that specifically…Yes, they are going into…Oh, grade 12. Like me. Yes, that's lovely. **

**Ah, that first chapter was posted in rather a rush; I was very anxious to get it up. So, I apologize for the mistakes in grammar and the stupid formatting stuff, if you noticed. If you didn't notice, then there were no mistakes.**

**I suppose I don't know why Vernon and Petunia hate Harry…seeing as how he is not a Magical Freak (MF) anymore…Why don't you make up your own backstory to that?**

**DISCLAIMER: My mind was not blessed with the idea of the Harry Potter empire, I'm sorry to say.**

**Chapter Two**

On the next one of Draco's trips past the front window the next day, he noticed that the Dursley's car was finally absent from their driveway. He decided to go and see if the non-Dursleyesque entity would have been left there, and making an educated guess, he thought he'd be correct.

The entity opened the front door wearing a ratty t-shirt and shorts that probably could have fit a small whale with legs (which, Draco realized, they probably once had), barely held up by a fraying belt.

They boy stared at Draco blankly for a moment, before Draco extended his hand.

"Draco Malfoy. I just moved in to the house across the street," he said, pointing with his forehead.

"Malfoy..." murmured the boy, grabbing Draco's extended appendage and shaking it. "Ah. You're the ones the Dursleys went to see."

"Yes...Why is it, though, if I may be so forward, that you said 'the Dursleys' rather than, say, 'my family'?"

The darker boy snorted.

"'Family' is the last word I'd use to describe our lovely little relationship..."

Draco considered this for a moment before speaking again.

"You still haven't told me your name."

"Oh. It's Harry. Harry Potter." After a short pause he went on. "Anyways, if you're here to see Dudley, he isn't here."

Now it was Draco's turn to snort.

"Harry, your dear cousin isn't exactly the greatest conversationalist I've ever met. Or perhaps he is, when not distracted by food — I wouldn't know."

Draco seemed to have passed some sort of test with this; for Harry laughed and stepped aside, allowing the blonde to enter the house.

"And you probably never will find out, either," he said as Draco brushed past him. "Erm, well, why did you come here then, if you didn't take to Dudley very well..?"

"Well, Harry, I came to see if you were crazy."

"Oh. Am I?"

"Maybe."

"You could be crazy, too. I could have just let an unstable killer into my home."

"I could have just walked into an unstable killer's home."

By this time Harry had led Draco through the house and upstairs, into what was presumably his bedroom.

"Draco, you said your name was? That's quite unusual, isn't it?" asked Harry.

"Yes, well, my parents are unusual people," he replied, wading through the debris of Harry's life and seating himself on the bed. "What happened to your parents, if you don't mind me asking?"

Harry turned to him and regarded him with eyes positively saturated with green-ness.

"You keep asking me if you can be forward, but you don't wait for an answer. You're forward anyway." Draco half-smiled and shrugged. "They died when I was a baby. In a car crash."

Draco nodded. He decided not to say 'I'm sorry'. People are always saying they're sorry. It wasn't his fault. Besides, he'd already known that that's what he was going to hear.

Harry stared at him a few moments before continuing. "That's when I got this." He pushed up his heavy black fringe to reveal the most beautifully horribly fascinating scar Draco had ever seen. He gasped a little.

"Oho, fuck, Harry..." he murmured as he stood up and walked toward Harry in the centre of the room. "That's brilliant." He reached out to touch it. Harry flinched, but didn't move away.

After a few seconds of this, the awkwardness felt only by Harry seemed to finally overwhelm him, and he stepped back, taking a deep breath. He cleared his throat and smoothed his hair back down over his forehead.

"Hey, er, do you want to go for a walk?" he asked.

"Yeah, all right."

The two of them walked through the house again and stepped across the threshold from the frosty, dry, synthetic climate of Harry's home into the heavy, still, suffocatingly wet summer. They made small talk as Harry led Draco in wandering.

Draco told Harry where he'd lived before, and that they'd had to move for his father's job (Harry still wasn't quite sure what it was Lucius Malfoy did, but it seemed to involve a lot of numbers and a lot of people who owned things and a lot of money). They realized that in September, they'd be attending the same school. At the mention of school, Draco noticed Harry's brows move slightly down and together. Clearly he was not fond of the place.

"How is school, then?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just lovely."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Did it sound like sarcasm?"

"A little bit, yes."

"It was."

They found themselves at the small playground that Harry told Draco he often visited.

They commenced Playing.

**A/N: Reviews make me hot all over. Review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey, kids. Here is chapter three. I finally thought up a backstory. I believe it is sufficient. Anyway, I hope you like this one.**

**Disclaimer: I came up with Harry Potter and all the surrounding environments and characters. (Not really.)**

**Chapter Three**

The next day, Harry and Draco met up again and walked and loitered. And the day after that. The first time, though, Harry had picked up Draco at his house. And the second time, the Dursleys had been absent again. So, the day after the day after the day the boys had met, Draco came to the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, only to find himself looking up rather than down at the thin, bony face belonging to the person who had opened the door.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Dursley," said Draco with aristocratic politeness. (Here, aristocratic means false.)

The woman smiled widely and gave a very awkward sort of curtsey to the handsome young son of a very important neighbour.

"Draco!" she squealed. "How good of you to come! Have you decided to take up Dudley's offer of tea?"

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Dursley." He decided to just be honest and break the news to her that he couldn't stand the thought of socializing with her many-chinned offspring. "You see, I don't believe that Dudley ever invited me to tea. I don't believe that your son and I are quite interested in the possibility of a friendship between us."

Mrs. Dursley looked as if she might be sick.

"What?" she hissed. "You...you didn't like my Dudders?"

"I don't trust that Dudders and I could ever become friends. We just, aren't compatible, I think."

"But you don't even know him yet!"

Gods, this woman was cracked.

"Is Harry there?" Draco asked, peering over Petunia's shoulder impatiently.

A look came over the woman's face that might have come over a normal person's face had you told them some horrific, gruesome medical story you'd seen on Discovery Health.

"Har- Why? Why do you want to see him? HOW DO YOU KNOW HIS NAME?"

Draco was now trying really really hard not to laugh.

"My dear woman, is he here or isn't he?"

Petunia sort of faded away from the door, looking like a ghost; white and not totally solid.

Draco wasn't sure if he was meant to follow her or wait. He hovered awkwardly for a moment before deciding to go inside the house. He stepped forward, but found himself nose to nose with the boy he was looking for.

"Ah, Harry!" Draco cried with relief.

Harry's eyebrows were raised and the corners of his mouth were turned up.

"What did you do to Aunt Petunia?"

"I told her I didn't want her son. Then I told her I was looking for you."

"Oh. Well that warrants a good cry, a violent inquiry from Vernon, a few days of fasting in protest, and much more glaring then usual."

"Erm, what?"

Harry took Draco by the elbow and led him away from the house, and back onto the sidewalk they were already so used to treading.

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit of an outcast among the Dursleys."

"I sort of had. Why, though?"

Harry snickered.

"Well, Petunia was my mum's sister, yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"Okay, well, my mum was like, the favourite. She was good at everything, and she was really smart, and she got accepted to this really good school that Petunia wanted quite badly to go to."

"Oh, so Petunia was all shadowed and bitter."

"Ha, yes. But then, after all those years of bitterness, my mum married my dad. Who was devastatingly handsome (I look just like him), and brilliantly charming."

"Oh no."

"Oh, yes. Petunia was hopelessly in love with Dad."

"GASP!"

"Yes, she was crazy with envy and lust."

"Then she married Gluttony."

Harry laughed.

"Right, so, Petunia hated her sister, and therefore any offspring she would ever produce."

"You."

"Mmm. And then my mum went and died, and left me, her evil spawn, to be cared for by Petunia and her charming family."

"Aww."

"And of course she told Vernon all sorts of nasty stories and made him hate me too, not that he is ever too opposed to the concept of hate, in general. And their son is just horrible."

"Oh, dear, Harry."

They walked in silence for a few moments. The weather these past few days had taken a turn for the worse. The sky was an opalescent grayish purple, like a bruise. The wind was now fluttering about fiercely, creating a refreshing bout of goosebumps every once in a while. A sultry, passionate, hot summer storm was imminent. Draco loved the sun, but storms evoked something even better than love in him. Storms were dark and violent and dangerous and loud. Summer storms especially. Unpredictable, untameable.

In that wild sort of way, warm, fat drops began falling from the sky.

Harry asked Draco if he wanted to go back.

The rain started to fall harder, and Draco shivered.

"That's no fun."

They took shelter in the dark, damp tunnel bridge of the play equipment at the park, watching the droplets fall out of each other's hair.

**A/N: Please! If you want me to live, you'll review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ugh, can you tell I'm back to school? Hence the wait. Desole. I try.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, never was mine, never will be mine. Or do you think they would believe it if I made up a claim that it was mine? Could I win in a lawsuit?**

**Chapter Four**

The weather remained dark and sunless, clearly in anticipation of the coming wave of fluorescent lights and dusty corners known as school.

Draco's father had intended to place him in a private school, but they'd arrived in Surrey only to discover that there were none, at least in a reasonable radius. So, off to public school it was. Draco's mother was a whimpering mess over the threat to her baby's well-being. Those nasty, evil, public-school children were just _raised_ to be horrible.

He tried to calm her down, but to no avail. He went to bed that night to the sounds of his father attempting to comfort his anguished mother.

That night he slept soundly, not worried about his new school. He had never had trouble in the social field — after all, he was aristocratically charming and inherently stunning. Besides that, he had Harry. Even if his new classmates were immune to his accidental-but-purposely-enhanced magnetism, he had Harry. So he drifted off in the soft blackness of his room, thinking only of the irrelevant.

He awoke to the sleepy dryness of yellow dusty beams on his covered legs. The clock radio at his bedside was crooning some quick, cheap, popular tune. He forced his eyes open until they would stay by themselves, and gave a shuddering, yawning stretch. Then he snorted as his eyes fell upon a pair of black pants and a soft blue buttoned shirt folded on a chair. He walked past the chair and into his own closet. The woman had wonderful taste, but it was the principle of the thing. He just couldn't wear something his mother had picked out. It simply wasn't done.

After sorting himself out and bidding his parents adieu, he picked up his bag and opened the front door, only to find Harry gracing his doorstep, his finger halfway to the doorbell. When Harry realized that the door had been opened, his face transformed into a quick but utterly sincere grin.

"Oh, hello there."

"Hello. I was just on my way over to yours."

"Ah, well, I beat you to it."

They headed down Draco's front steps in the slightly awkward manner of friends going somewhere together before they were warmed up in closeness.

"It's a good thing I found you," said Draco. "Otherwise I'd be getting a ride now, in the car with my blubbering mother."

It was a quiet male gesture of affection, and Harry returned it with a small smile.

They had gotten their schedules a week ago, to discover that they only shared one class; math. It was right before lunch.

Draco turned his eyes onto his companion and took in his appearance. His hair was, as usual, a charming disaster. He was wearing what was very probably his best pair of jeans, even though the same pair of jeans in Draco's possession would promptly be disposed of. A black t-shirt fit Harry's torso so well that Draco concluded it must have been purchased by the boy himself, and not a wide, stretched hand-me-down.

"You are lovely," commented Draco in that casually confident way that he had.

Harry grinned and did a sort of curtsey.

They continued their walking and talking about nothing, throwing in a yawn here and there in the sharp morning air.

SCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENE

The boys' shared class was also their first one. When Draco walked into the classroom, late due to losing himself after stopping off at the toilets, the only seat left was in the back corner, directly in front of Harry. Draco didn't mind this at all. He strode down the length of the room, noticing a fair few heads turning his way and a fair few whispers blossoming. But the blonde thrived in the focus of attention, and he exuded confidence and admirable aloofness as he took his seat in the cramped, abused desk near Harry. Harry watched him and Draco smirked and twitched his eyebrows up and down. They turned their faces to the front and watched as the professor got up from his desk and skulked slowly towards the front of the classroom, his long greasy hair parted in the centre of his head, forming a black curtain around his face. He sneered around at all his freshly emptied pupils and Draco thought he saw him linger slightly longer than necessary on Harry. The dark-haired boy raised his eyes to the professor's from beneath wisps of wild hair, defiant and willful.

He heard a whisper from a gaunt-looking boy with narrowed eyes a few rows away, and raucus laughter broke out around him, unabashed. The professor began speaking in drawling, dulcet tones, and even if you weren't listening, it was apparent that you really would do best to pretend. The greasy, hook-nosed character in black did not seem one to be amused by simple teenage charm. Draco was good at math. So he didn't listen. He was one of those people. You know, the ones that don't study, don't pay attention, and don't care, but still manage to always do better than you.

He looked to his right and saw that Harry, too, was not listening. But after a sharp interrogation from the professor and a red-faced shrug, it seemed that it was not because of the boy's mathematical prowess. Instead, he had placed pen on paper and forced them into an entangled dance. The wet, spurting tip of the pen in Harry's grasp prodded and slid over the smooth, white surface of his notebook, indenting to accept its zealous lover. Draco tried to see what he was writing, but the ink-stained fingers, bent elbow, and bowed head created a blockade **impenetrable**.

Through the glaze of his thoughtful detachment, Draco gradually became that his neighbour in desk and home was being scrutinized by many pairs of eyes. A head here, a head there, would turn to glance at the mop of unruly black hair with narrowed eyes or smirks, before a ripple of whispers around the smirk would appear, hot breath passing over curving lips, hissed air pulled into the turning gears of soft minds. Draco was set a little on edge because of this. What was the matter with them? As he got lost in staring at the latest glarer, the gaunt-faced boy who'd spoken earlier, the boy turned his gaze from Harry to Draco. Suddenly Draco found himself locked in optic combat with sunken pale blue eyes. When he refused to blink or look away, the boy broke the eye contact and looked Draco up and down with an appraising eye, before turning back toward the front. Draco found himself sneering at the boy's back when he knew he was being watched, and turning, saw Harry doing the watching, slowly breaking into a grin. When Draco gave him a look of mock defensiveness, Harry looked back down at his own desk, still stained with a smile.

SCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENEBREAKSCENE

Draco slammed his locker door shut and started violently when he found one Harry Potter standing there.

"Potter! Don't — don't stand there!"

Harry gave a lopsided grin.

"'Potter', is it? Well, anyways, I haven't seen you in just _ages_! How long has it been?"

"Two hours, ten minutes, and twenty-seven seconds. I've been counting."

Harry laughed.

"Seriously."

He laughed again.

"Shall we go to lunch, then?"

"We shall."

Harry had brought his lunch in a brown paper bag, and went to sit down while Draco bought his food. The tall blonde had received many feminine glances already that day, and they were clearly to continue during lunch. But as he stood in line he felt a rather more masculine nudge in his ribcage. He turned to see the boy from math class behind him. He raised his eyebrows.

"Hi there," the boy began in a false tone of winning charm. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Not particularly."

"Were you at this school last year?"

"No."

"Th-" the boy seemed utterly perplexed for a moment, before he decided that whatever was over his head must not be very important. He came back into his old manner. "I'm Leo Parker."

"Mm. Draco Malfoy. Charmed." A disdainful fake smile plastered itself onto Draco's face as he shook Leo's hand gingerly.

"Anywho, I saw you before. With Potter. You know him?"

Draco gave him a doubtful look. He hated people who said 'anywho'.

"You know him?"

"Ha. Oh, yeah. Me and him go way back."

But something in this Leo character's grin told Draco that this wasn't exactly a positive kind of way back.

**A/N: Okay, I'll try not to be too slow. Hope you liked this bit!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Oh, blast. I've just read over the last chapter, and I am so sorry I didn't edit it before posting. I feel like a retard. So, things to correct; Draco sits beside Harry in class, not in front of him. And, their class is first period. Okay? I'm going to slap myself in the face. Anyways, though, I hope you like this chapter. (I learned my lesson and edited.)**

**DISCLAIMER: No, not mine.**

**Chapter Five**

Draco no longer wanted to deal with this simpering, toothy, bony boy. He sneered at Parker and abruptly turned, cutting off the conversation quite rudely. Parker said nothing else, probably embarrassed, or, more likely, not intelligent enough to realize he'd been snubbed, and just plain surprised.

Draco went through the rest of the line, entrancingly aloof and attractively bored.

What the bloody fuck is wrong with that kid?" asked Draco as he placed his lunch across from Harry and sat down.

"Hm? Who?"

"Erm...That pointy kid with the bulging eyes and the stringy hair." Harry looked at him blankly and Draco exclaimed, "He's hideous!"

Harry stuck out his lips and raised his eyebrows in one of those facial shrugs.

"Show me."

Draco scanned the cafeteria.

"He's...Oh, there. That table in the other corner," he said, pointing.

Harry craned his neck and squinted.

"Oh! You mean in the green, right?"

"Yeah, yes."

"Ha. You've met Parker."

"Right, Parker. He said he knows you."

"Mm, he knows me. He and Dudley used to go to school together, 'fore old Diddy-kins went off to Smeltings."

"Oh, poo."

"Yes, poo. We used to all have such fun together. Oh wait. I actually had unfun."

A dark, bitter look ensnared Harry's features.

"Harry, did they hurt you?"

Draco already knew the answer. Harry looked at the partially crushed sandwich in his hands and gave a small nod.

Draco snorted darkly and shook his head, hot restless anger making a sudden appearance somewhere inside him.

"What an ass."

Harry looked up.

"What'd he say to you, anyway?"

"Ugh, nothing at all. He was making— trying to make small talk."

"Aha, he likes you," grinned Harry.

"Shut up. Everyone likes me. It's my curse," said Draco with a look reflecting mock inner turmoil.

"Or your blessing, in my case."

The boys grinned at each other and continued eating.

After their first, tiring, deathly boring day of school, Draco and Harry could be found shuffling out the giant front doors.

"Is it summer yet?" asked the blonde.

"No. Am I dead yet?" replied his companion, pulling the hood of his dark blue sweatshirt out from its trap under the strap of his bag.

"Yes, you're dead. You must have been a sinner."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" smirked Harry from beneath his side-swept black wings.

"Oho," Draco said, raising an elegant brow. "What's this love, some subtle homosexual banter tainting your black innocence?"

"Homosexual? What's in a word? Sexuality is only found in knowledge of sexuality."

"Are you trying to convince me that you are unaware of any innuendo you may be creating?"

"Do you question my innocence?"

"Do you question my truths?"

"Only in so much as your 'truth' chars my pure soft motives."

"Harry, I appreciate your childlike inability to separate sexuality and evil, but you mustn't confuse truth with beliefs."

Harry seemed to find this perfectly lovely, and he simply raised his eyes to study Draco's face, an amused smile gracing his own.

Just at the moment, however, the clean, charged air was shattered by an unsanitary and unintelligent presence.

"Oy! Malfoy!"

Draco and Harry stirred, producing interwoven sighs and snorts and wide eyes and rolling eyes.

Harry made to stop, but Draco put a hand on his back to lead him further away from their rapidly approaching follower. Harry snickered.

"Malfoy! Hey, stop!" Parker was running up behind them, and finally caught up, throwing a hand onto Draco's shoulder. He bent double, breathing heavily. "Why didn't you stop, mate?"

Draco sneered.

"I didn't hear you. What is it?"

Parker shrugged. Then he seemed to notice Harry, finally. He grinned.

"What are you with him for?" he asked of his new 'friend'.

"I thought he was someone else," Draco commented drily. Harry smirked and watched Parker's face cloud with confusion.

"What are you smiling at, psycho?" he demanded of Harry.

"Psycho? Parker, go lay down," was his disdainful reply from the brunette.

"Malfoy, seriously. What are you doing with this retard? He's worthless shit, mate. You know he's a fag, yeah? Come on, I'll introduce you to my friends. My normal friends," he added, glaring at Harry.

Very suddenly an extremely dark look came over Draco's face. Harry and Parker were both startled. Harry raised his eyebrows as Draco very slowly, _agonizingly_ slowly, paced up until he was just a few inches away from Parker. The natural raw power was beating out of him in thick dark throbs. Harry had never seen Draco angry before. It was...something not to be taken lightly, it seemed.

"What, the fuck, did you just say?" he hissed, still slowly, in Parker's scrunched up face.

"What's the matter with you, huh? I was only warning you about this kid. He's already attached himself to you. You gotta escape now, Malfoy."

Draco let out a low growl, and with a sudden pounce, Parker found himself underneath a tense young blonde with a vengeance on his head.

**A/N: Please review, they fuel me. **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Oh gosh. Thanks to all my reviewers, to whom I owe everything. Love you. So, this is pretty much the best chapter I've ever written in my life. Ha, okay, well, I'm quite proud of it. **

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**Chapter Six**

Parker was, indeed, in trouble. The poor brute had stumbled unknowingly over a line that anybody who knew Draco Malfoy would have never dared approach. You do not insult Draco Malfoy; you do not insult anything Draco Malfoy is fond of. That's it. Those are the rules.

So when Leonard Parker had verbally violated, had ripped open with his filthy tongue, had raped the pure honour of Draco's only friend in this town, he had encroached upon the untouchable. Draco's pretty, loveable _copain_ was not to be abused any more.

He didn't like Parker.

Off with his head.

Yes, there would be blood.

He hoped Harry would see the blood of his tormenter.

He flung himself onto the thin, jutting frame in front of him and he made sure Parker broke his fall. He began with a punch. Beautifully thrown, connecting with a thick, sound crunch to the boy's nose.

Look Harry, blood.

Parker was struggling, a grunting, sweaty mess, rapidly turning the colour of his nasal spring.

Draco moved his knees over the boy's elbows, protecting his own perfect though rage-stained face. He punched him again. Then again, hurting his hand on the sharp jaw.

Finally Parker managed to free his arms and he threw his blonde assailant away. He was able to stand staggeringly before he found himself doubled over again. Draco had come back, doubly enraged at being thwarted, and punched him in the stomach.

"What the fuck!" he shouted, his contorted face leaking violent red. He spit out some blood on Draco's shoe.

Draco slowly examined the offended piece of evidence before raising his eyes back to Parker with real hatred.

"You, sir, are a fucking asshole. You are unintelligent, unthinking, remorseless, and disrespectful. Not only that," he paused, directly in front of the panting fountain of ceaseless obscenities. "You're really, very, ugly."

Parker was still screaming curses when Draco ran behind him and collected both his arms. Then he dragged himself and his cargo over to the shocked and immobile Harry.

"Go ahead, Harry," said Draco, only a very tiny grunt escaping his lips.

Harry looked past Parker into Draco's face, with wide eyes.

Then, suddenly, the wet ball of human filth in Draco's arms laughed.

"He won't touch me," the boy spat. "Don't even bother, Malfoy. He never used to fight back, and he won't now, either."

Parker was a stupid boy.

Harry moved until he was nose-to-nose with him, then he smiled sweetly and placed a kiss on Parker's gushing nose.

Draco laughed.

Parker looked like he was having a particularly noisy seizure.

Then Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and, keeping eye contact, jammed his knee into the struggling teen's crotch.

Draco dropped him as he collapsed. Then he wiped some of Parker's blood onto the writhing mass disdainfully, before turning to Harry and leading him away, one hand again on his back.

They walked in silence for a while, until suddenly Draco heard Harry take a big, shuddering breath. He then found himself enfolded by warm, thin limbs, breathing through a filter of wild black hair.

Draco hugged back, making sure to tighten his own grip when Harry tightened his— which was a lot.

A few moments passed, the two dark figures standing amidst a field of grey concrete, and a sea of grey sky. Holding on tight in the middle of the cracked sidewalk, flecks of dried blood on Draco's hands.

By the time Harry finally broke away, Draco wasn't ready to.

But then Harry laughed a little, and it was okay again.

"What?" Draco asked.

"I can't believe you just beat someone up."

Draco smirked and bowed.

"At your service," he said.

Harry smiled a little sadly.

"In that case, want to have a go at Dudley next?"

Draco studied Harry for a moment. Then he shook off his serious.

"Ugh, let me shower first."

Harry grinned.

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That night, Draco sat at his desk, searching through a pile of dirty old textbooks and crumpled paper, attempting to do his homework. What, first day? What, homework?

Yeah.

He was just about ready to quit when he heard the telltale hum of his doorbell.

He went to the window to see who it was, but there was no car in the driveway, and he couldn't see the front door.

He just assumed that it was some door-to-door salesperson.

No, he wouldn't answer that.

But then the visitor began knocking. And didn't stop. Oh. Either it was a very obnoxious salesperson, or it was Harry.

"Draco!" the assailant yelled. "Open your damn door!"

It was Harry.

Draco rushed over to the door and yanked it open.

"Sorry, I—" Draco stopped talking when he saw the state his friend was in. His lip had burst and he was playing with it spastically with his tongue, trying not to let the shining scarlet escape the circle of his mouth. He had an unbelievable bruise gracing his cheekbone, a slowly spreading purple blossom. His clothes were disheveled and he was trying so hard not to let Draco see his lightly trembling hands.

Draco pulled him inside and assaulted him with unanswered questions. He went to get a wet cloth in the kitchen, and then he made Harry sit down on the couch while he wiped up the random specks of blood all over him, and his vampiric mouth. Harry squirmed awkwardly, but accepted this care.

When Draco attempted to hold an ice pack to Harry's face, though, he took it away from him and held it there himself.

Draco sat down next to Harry and watched him for a while. Then he spoke up.

"Harry." The boy looked up from behind his ice. "What happened?" Harry lowered the ice.

"Re-fried revenge happened."

"What?"

Harry sighed. Draco pushed his hand with the ice back up to his face.

"Parker told Dudley and his crew what happened." He dropped his hand again and snorted. "Of course, he made it sound a lot more flattering to himself as to your status."

"What? So they came after you? But I was the one who— it was my fault!" he cried, distractedly pushing Harry's hand up again.

Harry snorted once more.

"Why would they come smack you around when they had a perfect excuse to do me?"

Draco knitted his brows. "Right, well, they weren't finished, either," Harry went on. "I kind of escaped them."

"Oh, gods. How many were there, love?"

"Dudley and two of his friends."

Draco groaned.

"Fucking cunts..."

Harry nodded and let his ice pack fall. Draco pushed it back up.

"Anyway," Harry said, "they're hanging out at the Dursley's, and I have a feeling it wouldn't be too smart to go back for a few hours."

"Yeah, yeah. Stay."

Harry smiled as he stood and handed the ice pack to Draco.

"Where's your washroom?"

Draco told him and then watched him, thoughtfully chewing his lip.

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When Harry came back from the washroom he looked much better. Well, cleaner. His face still showed all the words of his spiteful story.

He ambled in and 'accidentally' sat on Draco.

"Oh!" he cried, turning around. "I didn't see you there!"

"Suck it!" yelled Draco, pushing his friend off his lap and heading into the kitchen.

"My parents are out, by the way," he yelled. "So no worries about explaining your nasty little face."

"Oh, lovely."

Draco came back into the living room with two full wine glasses.

"Wine?" asked Harry. "Seriously?"

Draco gave Harry a look.

"Harry, it's perfectly normal. Don't you know in France, everyone drinks wine? All the time? It's good for you," he said, handing a glass to the darker figure.

He shrugged and clinked glasses with Draco.

"Oh, let's make a toast," suggested the host of their pathetic little party.

"Erm...to blood."

"To blood."

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An hour later, the boys could be found on the floor of the living room, draping blankets over kitchen chairs.

"Best. Fort. Ever," said Harry, crawling inside and lying facedown in the nest of pillows and blankets they'd made.

No, they weren't drunk.

A fort? Yeah.

How old? Too old.

Nevermind, not too old.

Not drunk, either. Really.

A bag of crisps fell on Harry's arse, and then Draco crawled in after it.

He said cross-legged and began noisily eating, and then a thought occurred to him.

"Harry?" he asked, swallowing his mouthful.

"Hm?" came the muffled response.

"Are we normal?"

"No."

"I thought not."

"Wait," said Harry, sitting up. "Why do you ask?"

When Harry sat up, the two boys had ended up merely an inch away from each other, due to the close quarters of the cuddly cave.

"I mean, love, that we have just built a fort. A very tiny fort. Look how close we're sitting. Look how close we're always sitting," Draco paused, inhaling Harry and distractedly running his hot tongue over his lips.

"You also call me 'love'," breathed Harry. "But there is nothing wrong with blanket forts!" he cried, breaking the volume shell of his former words.

"Is there anything wrong with 'love'?"

Harry laughed a little and flopped back onto the soft pile of pillows. He opened his mouth to speak but Draco cut him off. "I meant _calling_ you 'love'."

Harry smirked up at him.

Draco gave a tiny giggle, throwing himself on top of Harry.

The dark-haired boy was really very comfortable. Draco loved Harry's hoodies. They were nice. So was the warm, slowly breathing pillow of chest under Draco's head.

Who likes normal?

**A/N: Long one, yeah? Are you proud? Did you like it? Do tell.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Oh, you're too lovely. You reviewers, I mean. I do not care about the rest of you. (Okay, I do, but shh.) Many thanks, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Without further adieu…**

**Disclaimer: All characters are the babies of not!me.**

**Chapter Seven**

Draco's head was flung from its spot on Harry's chest by his mother's voice.

He hastily sat up, glaring at the woman's head, which was currently being disembodied by the flap of two blankets. She was peering in at them, and when she located her son in the dark she smiled.

"Well this, darling, is just adorable."

"What are you doing here? What time is it?" asked Draco blearily.

"Sweetheart, it's one in the morning. I just had to make sure you didn't have any _girls_ in here!" she giggled, eyes twinkling.

Draco sort of snorted, and then he realized that it was 1am.

"Oh...should I wake him and send him home?"

"Who is it? I can't see."

"Harry."

The woman just had to smile at Harry's name. He was just such a cutie!

"Oh, no, just stay here, it looks so cozy. I'll just wake you two up a bit early so Harry can go get ready."

That was precisely what Draco had wanted to hear, and he thanked his mother and settled in on the other side of the 'tent' from Harry.

Narcissa smiled and her head disappeared.

Draco made sure she was gone before crawling back to his former pillow/blanket/teddy bear, who sort of shifted around and wrapped an arm around him.

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What seemed to be only a few minutes later, Draco found himself awake, staring up once again at his mother's face, the sweat sticking his hair to his neck. It's amazing how hot it can get in a tiny enclosed space almost airtight with blankets.

When Narcissa had gone, Draco shook Harry awake. He turned back into his pillow, muttering something unintelligible. Then he sat up really suddenly, like a corpse coming to life.

"Why am I still here? What time is it? Is it Saturday?"

"You're not a morning person, are you?" asked Draco innocently, smirking at his friend's confusion. But quite quickly, his amusement turned to something else, as he took in Harry's appearance.

His sweaty, tousled, glasses-less appearance.

Oh.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

Harry arched his back stretching, just then, in a way that seemed oddly appealing to Draco.

He crawled over and couldn't resist hugging the darker boy.

"Oomph," grunted Harry, tackled by love. "What's this for?" he tried to ask, from inside the warm depths of Draco's arms.

"You looked huggable," was the reply. Draco felt like he was getting a sort of pleasure out of that embrace that Harry wasn't, though, so he pulled away. Then he explained to him how they'd fallen asleep and spent the whole night in the fort.

Yes, they'd have to get ready for school now.

Ugh.

So Harry and Draco left each other to shower the sweat off of themselves and get ready for school.

Draco was a little worried. He really didn't want Harry any more beaten than he already was.

Stupid, stupid Dursleys. Stupid, stupid Dudley's friends. Draco hated them.

A lot.

The kind of anger that only saying 'fuck' a thousand times fast could alleviate.

So he said it. In the shower. Except, he only got to 274.

You never get to a thousand. That's why people are angry so often.

Once he'd readied himself for the day, he rushed off over to number four, Privet Drive. He found Harry leaning on a tree outside, eating an apple. The boy shoved off of the tree and came to meet him.

"Everything okay?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded.

"Nobody saw me. They were all scattered into their rooms," he went on.

Draco nodded too.

They started walking to school, Harry's apple crunching occasionally. This reminded Draco that he hadn't had breakfast. And he was hungry.

"Can I have a bite?" he asked.

Harry smiled mischievously as he swallowed.

"No."

Draco backhanded him in the stomach.

"I'm hungry!" he cried petulantly, reaching to take the apple out of Harry's hand.

"Well you should have eaten something," grinned the boy.

Draco whined. "You'll be my favourite," he offered, temptingly.

"I'm already your favourite." Another charming smile.

"I hate you."

"You love me." And he pulled Draco's head forward and kissed the top of his expertly coiffed hair.

Draco shrieked and giggled.

"Retard!"

"You love a retard!"

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As Harry and Draco were walking down the crowded before-school corridor, a fight seemed to break out. A crowd of empty-headed blood-thirsty spectators formed a nearly perfect circle almost immediately.

Our heroes made to keep walking, but one of the bodies involved was thrown up against a locker by the other, right in Harry's path. The boy who had pinned the other noticed Harry and glared straight into his green eyes, his own glazed in bloodlust.

"What?" he screeched. "What, Potter, you like this, huh?? Like to watch this?"

Draco furrowed his brow and looked to see his friend's reaction. However, there wasn't much to be seen, save a small sneer.

The crowd had laughed at the comment, and now more jokes and insults were floating above the group, from unseen mouths. Rippling snickers followed.

Harry muttered a bitter curse and turned to make his exit. The two boys had resumed their fighting almost immediately, but many eyes were still darting in Harry's direction.

Draco made a rude hand gesture to one of the teens watching Harry, and then he went after his best friend.

He found him outside, leaning heavily on the unforgiving stone wall.

When Harry saw Draco, he slid down the wall, ending up n a crouching position. His eyes became shielded by thick lashes as he studied the ground.

Draco crouched next to him.

"Harry dear—" he paused, then went on. "What the fuck happened here? I mean, before. Why are they all so—" he trailed off, and then almost told Harry not to say 'nothing', but then green eyes met grey and Draco knew he didn't have to.

"Okay." Harry sniffed in the cool air and looked away. "Okay. Erm, a few years ago, a certain character used to come here, and he was one of Dudley's group, yeah?" Draco wrinkled his nose. "One time though, he cornered me, alone, and he tried to, er, 'seduce' me." He raised his arms to make finger quotes. Draco's eyebrows went down as his eyelids went up. "Anyway, I got away from him, and I think he was afraid I'd tell somebody, so he told everyone I had come on to him."

This answer was short, concise, and piercingly unfair.

"Who was it? What kid was this?" Draco's tone was spiked hot with anger.

Harry shook his head.

"He moved last year. But not before making sure I became an instant pariah. Okay, more of a pariah. Even though he moved away, his memory remains," he finished bitterly.

"Oh fuck, Harry," Draco said, pulling the boy into a hug.

Yes, now he understood. He understood the looks, and the whispers, and the fear. But not really. He couldn't really understand such disgusting, accusing, gullible—

"They suck!" he cried suddenly.

There. That was a smile gracing the lovely face of one Harry Potter.

Even if it was tiny.

Later that night, Draco got to 326.

**A/N: Always review, please.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello my lovelies! First, thank you for the reviews, they really are, like, my favourite thing in the world. Second, sorry it took me so long. I was busy and had writer's block and then the site wouldn't let me do anything…**

**This is the last chapter, yeah? Yeah. A little short, but I hope it's okay. I kind of like it. Right-O, on with the show.**

**DISCLAIMER: Gosh, I wish they were mine. Too bad.**

**Chapter Eight**

A month passed, rather uneventfully, and one certain weekend in October found our boys splayed out in the park, lying on a crisp, crunching bed of dead brown leaves. You know how comfortable that is, don't you? Lying on the ground in the fall? It's cozy because of the sweaters. And the view.

The view of clear blue sky past a net of bare brown fingers. The soft dark sweaters shielding you from any danger. There's no place more safe and secure than the ground in the autumn.

Harry wasn't doing anything. Draco wasn't doing anything. Just breathing, and viewing, and being in sweaters.

They had been playing in the leaves. It'd been Harry's idea. Harry had kicked all the leaves together, forming a wide green circle around them, but just as he was turning to get a running start, a gleeful shout erupted and his perfect pile was ruined. Draco did not even apologize. He laughed instead. Harry had made a sound of cheerful frustration and jumped anyway into the flattened, Draco-filled leaf pile. Draco had been squished, and so he hit Harry. They fought. They rolled around, never getting hurt, because it was autumn. The leaves and the sweaters made it safe, you see. As always.

Harry got a bug in his hair. Draco screamed. Harry screamed too, for fun. It was okay in the end.

They were done, then. All of themselves were used up and full and sweet. That's when you lie down and watch the sky, isn't it? Yes.

The blonde one, that's Draco, turned his elegant white face towards Harry. Harry turned his expressive tanned one back, when he heard the rustling.

"Harry dear."

"Yes?"

"What do you do in math class?"

"Math?"

"Yes."

"Math."

"No. I know you, and you cannot ever do math. What is it you are always doing that gives you no time for our charismatically obnoxious professor?"

"Writing."

Harry turned back to the sky. He was a writer. Writers look at the sky.

"Oh." A pause in which the wind carried some far-off voices of the innocent; the young. "Can I see it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I've eaten it." Harry turned back to Draco. Writers look at pretty things.

"Then I'm going to search through your stools."

"Okay actually, you can't see any of it because it is ugly. You are not ugly, and it is. So you can't see it."

Draco thought this over, rolling over on his side. But then he decided to keep going, and he ended up on his stomach, his face still turned to his friend.

"What do you mean by ugly, Harry?"

"I dunno."

Harry wasn't really a writer. Nobody is really a writer. They are just people who cannot keep their thoughts organized in their head, so they have to put them on paper. Writers are simply eccentric thinkers.

He was an eccentric thinker because nobody really loved him. Or liked him. What did he have to think about except the intangible and the unattractive and the unreal?

He looked into Draco's intelligent grey eyes. And all over his face. His lips were sort of quirked up, and his entire face was relaxed. His eyes were filled with affection.

Harry used to be good. He used to write all sorts of stunning poems and stories and his prose was impeccably dark and blackened and muddy.

Now all he did was write stupid happy things.

Horribly structured sentences and clichéd poetry and— gods. Just- just utter crap. Love makes for terrible writing. When you are full inside, you do not need to say anything to make people understand, or to make yourself feel better.

Harry got up halfway and crawled over to Draco.

Draco was still angry about this damned town, what they had done to Harry. He had not needed to bloody his hands any more, though, since Parker. He'd just threatened and extorted and death-glared his way into respect. Nobody touched Harry anymore. Everyone was quiet, mostly. Nobody looked at them or talked to them.

But these two here, lying in the leaves, hardly noticed.

They were side by side now.

Children were laughing, and leaves were swirling, and trees were bending, and the soft breeze was making that constant roar.

And Harry and Draco were side by side.

**Fin.**

**A/N: Please review.**


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